Black As Is Sin
by Elenya Aurelin
Summary: Lothiriel has never wanted to marry him, and she's never spoken to him, but it isn't her decision to make. BTW, this *doesn't* suck.
1. Black As Is Sin

Disclaimer: Nothing in this story but OC's are mine. this goes for all chapters.  
  
A/N I don't know how they marry in ME, so I made up a totally non-religious ceremony. BTW I don't know if anyone has done a story like this before. If you have I'm sorry, I thought it was original.  
  
~~~~ BLACK AS IS SIN ~~~~  
  
I've always liked my Father.  
  
I've always respected his every decision.  
  
But this one I cannot. I cannot accept it. Never. NEVER! I will not. It's not because I hate the man. It's not even because I'm leaving home. It definitely isn't because it's just a political marriage. I always knew that would happen to me.  
  
It's because he's selling me. SELLING ME! I marry that... that... that -man- ... and Father gets 600 loads of silver! He is a great commander, a good leader, and a loving Father, but I do not see how he could sell me. I knew he'd marry me away, improve his status, but like this? Why? It's been just us, just us, for so long, and he would sell me for 600 loads of silver. It is a huge amount of money, yes, but I would not take it. Not for him.  
  
I shall just forever hope the man's love is worth that. For it shall not be refunded.  
  
~~~~Normal POV~~~~  
  
Lothiriel sat still as Lily brushed her hair. Lothiriel had always hated her hair. So dark. Black as sin, as Eowyn had once taunted her, after the Rohirric girl had discovered Lothiriel getting friendly with a stable boy. Lothiriel's slightly tanned face had flushed right up to the roots of that raven hair, and Eowyn had forever blackmailed her with that.  
  
Now that black hair was being twisted, pulled and brushed into an elaborate style. Lothiriel could never understand why her maids styled it so elaborately. The colouring was so unfashionable in Ithilien it was always hidden beneath a veil. Now the veil was white.  
  
Finally Lily finished, and placed a thin, almost see through veil on her mistress' head, securing it with a thin gold circlet.  
  
"It does look lovely, madam." said the maid tentatively.  
  
Lothiriel turned, oh so slowly, to set her doe brown eyes on Lily. She closed them, and drew in a deep breath. Lily sighed, hoping against hope she hadn't offended. It didn't work. The raven haired girl's eyes snapped open, and she said, deceivingly quietly,  
  
"It does not, madam, for it is black. Black as sin, and I would appreciate no further mentions to it. Now, I should hope you had the foresight to know you'd infuriate me at least once, so I presume your bags are packed. Unpack them. And then pack them again. And then, I do believe I shall forgive you," said Lothiriel lightly, and began to put on her dress. Lily sighed with relief, and scurried away before the lady changed her mind. The bride's laughter reverberated after, though it wasn't malicious. She knew Lily wouldn't bother, and depending on how loathsome Eomer was, would pretend not to notice. Her laughter finally stopped, and as she slipped on silk stockings and shoes, she began to think.  
  
Would he love her? Would he, really and truly? But then, she decided, it didn't matter, for she could never, would never, return his love. She thought of the wedding.  
  
King Elessar and Queen Arwen would be there, with their tiny son. All the Fellowship but Boromir, her cousin, and Frodo and Sam. Eowyn and Faramir, but not Denethor nor Theoden. Father, obviously, but mother was long dead. As was Findulias. She would have been marrying Theodred... but for... He, Prince of the Mark, she had loved. She had known him always, as he had visited often, and they had been arranged since her birth. He had been ten years her senior, but now, at seventeen, it didn't seem to have ever been that much.  
  
Eomer, just eight years her senior, she had seen, but never, not once, spoken too. He hadn't liked her when she was ten, and that was the only time she remembered seeing him. He had looked at her, with so much malice, as Theodred had picked her up and kissed her cheeks, before swinging her around, and then telling her he would teach her how to fence when she could lift his sword. She had tried. Tried all the time, and when she had visited Theoden to see what would happen about the arrangement, had asked could she see the sword the old man cradled, and had lifted it. Lifted it so high above her head, and asked no one in particular,  
  
"Can I fence now?" Imrahil had asked Theoden if she could sit down somewhere, and he asked Eowyn to take her outside.  
  
That was so long ago, and now it was her wedding day. Father would arrive soon, and take her down to be wed in the hall. Marriage in Ithilien was a short exchange of promises and rings, before feasts, dancing and entertainment. Finally Lothiriel was finished, and she looked at herself in the mirror.  
  
Black curls fell artfully across her veiled face, and the dress was light, airy and beautiful, but it felt like lead. A knock at the door made her start suddenly. Imrahil, full of smiles and happiness, burst in.  
  
"Lothiriel! Eomer awaits!" he chided her, and offered his arm. His daughter took it, matching his smile, and followed him downstairs, thinking of all the curses and oaths she would yell at him. One day. Now, she had a groom to despise.  
  
She entered the hall via the great staircase, and the entire hall turned to look at her and her father. Arwen adjusted little Eldarion so that he could see the descending Princess. Lothiriel smiled at the tiny prince as he waved a chubby arm toward her. Eomer, standing before Aragorn, had not turned to look at her, and determinedly kept facing forward.  
  
She smiled and acknowledged all she passed, and finally stood before Aragorn, who was there instead of Eomer's father. Imrahil stood next to the King of Gondor, and they turned to each other.  
  
"I, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, give my consent to this marriage, and approve of my daughter's choice of groom," he announced. Lothiriel nearly laughed aloud. Her choice of groom? Ha!  
  
"I, King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor, give my consent to this marriage, and approve of my good friend Eomer's choice of groom. If this is settled, then the bride and groom will exchange promises," he smiled at the two standing before him. Eomer, with apparent effort, turned to Lothiriel.  
  
"I, Eomer Eadig, King of the Mark, promise to love, adore, and be faithful to Lothiriel of Dol Amroth. In return for her obedience, I will cause no bodily harm to her," he said, and rolled his eyes, so only Lothiriel could see. She bit her lip. Imrahil had gone over these promises a thousand times, and each time she found them more unfair.  
  
"I, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, promise to give my heart and body to my husband, to be always faithful, to be obedient, never to shame him to the lowliest, never to raise my voice or hand to him, and to do as he alone tells me to do," she said. Eomer reached forward, and lifted her veil, and kissed her on the mouth. Then he stepped back, and she realised it was over.  
  
This man she despised was now her husband. He offered his arm stiffly, and she took it only as she knew her father would be shamed if she did not. Aragorn and Imrahil smiled at each other, and followed the newly married couple into a great hall.  
  
~~~~~  
  
A/N I'm unsure whether to make Eomer an abusive or just unloving husband. Please tell me *as you review*. 


	2. Saddlesore

A/N Thank you everyone who reviewed, and you'll be glad to know your votes won. Thank you all for the *constructive* criticism and I'll try to make the story a bit better this time. BTW All you Americans (who probably don't listen to British Music) should go to www.busted.com because it's amazing, and I listened to their song all through writing this.  
  
~~~~ SADDLESORE ~~~~  
  
I hurt. My feet hurt from dancing, my head hurts from Gondorian wine, and my heart hurts from him. He, who danced with me once and left to waltz with a pretty blonde young heiress from Minas Tirith. He, who got tired and insisted we leave for Rohan at dawn.  
  
He is not unkind to me. No, he catered for my every whim, allowing me to bring Lyllyth, my dog; my whole wardrobe, even my bed, which I refused to leave, hoping he would think me too much trouble and the whole thing not worth it. But he ordered his men to get the huge cedar wood frame and bedding onto a huge cart.  
  
I really do hate horses. The motion of them trotting just feels strange beneath me, and I'll not even begin to get at how I walk when I've just got out of the saddle! But here I am sitting on a small bay horse, and following him and his men. Part of the reason I hate horses is that I can't ride properly, I'm awkward in the saddle, and I hate the sensation that I'm not really in control. Father gave me riding lessons when Mother was alive, but I was so afraid I never sat on a horse again. Until today. Eomer asked if I wanted a carriage, but I would want that less. I would rather face a thousand orcs than be trapped in a stuffy carriage all day with Aleneve, my maid, who would whine and complain that she'd never see Sergeant Evinden again. Little does she know I would gladly pay him money if he would marry her and get rid of her forever. Unfortunately I think Aleneve will leech all goodwill from me until I die. Oh well. To Rohan.  
  
~~~~Normal POV~~~~  
  
Lothiriel's black hair streamed out behind her, as she tried to force her bay mare to a faster pace. Her Father had told her how to do it, with a gentle tug to the reins, but the mare was just so unresponsive to everything. She'd never been comfortable around horses, and she privately thought this one was particularly stubborn. She watched Eomer, who was laughing with their escort. It was often she'd been ignored when her father talked with other men, but this time, it seemed unfitting that her new husband would leave her to ride alone. Or worse than alone: with Aleneve.  
  
"Aleneve! Come here! This horse is so stubborn, it won't do anything!" complained Lothiriel.  
  
"Madame, I know nothing of horses. Perhaps you should ask the King Eomer, my lady," said Aleneve, sniffing. "Yntyr Evinden rides as if he was born in the saddle. He would've helped."  
  
"Did he learn to ride before or after he single handedly slew the dragon?" asked Lothiriel bad temperedly. Aleneve sniffed again, and fell back again. . Just then Eomer looked behind, and noted Lothiriel's distress. He fell back from his men. "Are you having problems, my lady?" he asked.  
  
She looked at him, unsure of whether he was mocking her or genuinely concerned. Even if he was truly concerned, she decided that the horrid little horse was not worth shaming herself for.  
  
"I'm fine, sir, but thank you for your concern," she said, and bowed her head slightly in respect. Eomer looked at her for a few moments.  
  
"I was thinking, perhaps, you could ride pillion*, behind me," he said, at least trying to be friendly. She considered this carefully. It wouldn't hurt, after all, and this horse was just so stubborn. She nodded. "Stop there then, and I'll have some one take the horse away." He smiled at her, and with difficulty, she slid from the saddle. Eomer dismounted, and hauled her up behind him.  
  
He looked at her as she almost reluctantly let him help her up. Her black hair might be unfashionable, but it was like black silk, and her dark eyes were like dark pools at midnight. Tangwystl, however, was a different story. Even as he mounted, he began to think of his copper-haired lover, waiting for him back in Rohan. Her green eyes smiling at him, and her soft laughter as he told her the happenings of the day. Tangwystl, the woman with green eyes and blood hotter than the flame of Uldoon. With these thoughts, he relaxed in the saddle, and Lothiriel shifted uncomfortably as he leant back a little.  
  
.She was unsure of the rest of the ride. Eomer talked to her, but even as she began to reply, him eyes misted over, just a little, and he became slightly distant. On the last day, when she noticed only she had this effect on him, she withdrew from all conversations, and spoke only to Aleneve, which, if tiresome, would at least not give her the impression she was not being paid attention to.  
  
"Aleneve, have you ever come to Edoras with me?" she asked.  
  
"No, madame, Yntyr took me to his home in the outskirts while you were away,"  
  
"I do think Meduseld will be prettier than Yntyr's house,"  
  
"Oh, my lady, but you simply *couldn't* be as happy as I was there!" said Aleneve.  
  
Lothiriel searched her maid's face for any malicious content, and finding none, replied,  
  
"No. I don't believe I shall be."  
  
Finally, around sunset, they arrived in Edoras. Lothiriel, who had visited all parts of Rohan, never ceased to be amazed at the beauty of Meduseld. A little voice inside her head, though, ruined the golden splendour, reminding her 'Good thing you like it. You'll be spending the rest of your life here with him'.  
  
~~~~ A/N I know that ending did kind of suck, but I couldn't think of how to change it. Thanks a billion to Rabid Cow, my beta, however much she shreds and shreds my work.  
  
* pillion is riding side saddle behind some one, often done by servants when Lords refused to buy them horses. 


	3. Eau De Horsedung

A/N Thanks to everyone again, and I try to take everyone's suggestions seriously and incorporate them into my work. It's just so hard( =P This chapter contains vague references to traces of sex, but it's so faint I'll keep it at PG. For those of you wondering, Tangwystl is a Welsh name, because I don't know the type of names the Rohirrim use. And, before I forget, I thousand thanks to my wonderful beta, rabid cow.  
  
~~~~ EAU DE HORSE DUNG ~~~~  
  
Stinking. The entire kingdom just stinks of horses. I hate the damned things, and here I am, surrounded by them. Not just them, their smell. My chamber over looks the courtyard( and the stables. The room is nice, even when it is filled with incense and scented flowers, in an unsuccessful attempt to drown out horse dung. It has white washed walls, and everything my old room had. In fact, I'd swear this is far larger, and more luxurious than the hole Father had me in. Yet still, not as big as his.  
  
I should be glad we do not share a bed, but I am not. Not when my place is taken by his whore. Tangwystl. Half the men here are in love with her, the rest simply entranced. But she does not share their beds, and if she did, I'd not even know her name. But while she shares his, I'll damn that name. I do know what's going on, though he does so endeavour that I would not. The sly glances, the 'innocent' touches. None escape my notice. I would not that he shared with me, nor that he was alone, but if their stolen moments only meant nothing. To make it worse, she is pregnant. The entire court knows that it is Eomer's, since she is unmarried. I would that I was pregnant with his child. But I am not, and he does not love me. He loves the copper-haired woman who bears his child. I just hope it is a son.  
  
~~~~NORMAL POV~~~~  
  
Eomer paced incessantly. Tangwystl was in the chamber next to him, but he daren't enter. The birthing chamber was a place where men simply did not go. He heard her fevered shouts occasionally, and a few soft moans, and it tore at his heart, but Tangwystl had refused to abort the child. She wouldn't even use a contraceptive. This birth, though, was difficult in more ways than one.  
  
If it was a male child, Lothiriel had every right to return to Dol Amroth and have the marriage contract burnt, the rings melted, and the dowry paid back. Perhaps that would even have turned out neutral, but he'd all ready spent 100 loads of the silver. Several had been spent on Lothiriel, yes, but he had the feeling Imrahil wouldn't really care. He couldn't repay that 100 any way. Not in his life time. No, if it was a son, his kingdom, reputation, and family was in tatters. He simply hoped for the best.  
  
*********  
  
Lothiriel put on a cloak. She had to find Eomer. Perhaps he would allow her to look around in Edoras, as she was choking here, asphyxiating on the horse-smelling air. She left her chamber, and set off. Where might he be? She contemplated his whereabouts briefly, before simply running off to look for him. He wasn't in his chamber, or the great hall, or the throne room, or the armoury, or anywhere as far as she knew. Then it hit her. Tangwystl. Why hadn't she thought of that woman before? She set off towards the small annex of chambers Tangwystl and several of the ladies in waiting lived.  
  
She pushed open the wooden door which led into the entrance hall of the quarters. There was absolutely no one there. She walked in. There was no noise, no nothing. Then, just as she turned to leave, she heard a clatter and a crash. She spun round.  
  
"My lady! I didn't... didn't know you'd come... not here... especially not right now!" stuttered Aleneve.  
  
"Aleneve! Such a welcome for your friend! Now, what did you mean... right now!?"  
  
Lothiriel's eyes narrowed. Aleneve's eyes frantically searched the entire room, as if looking for an answer. Her mistress' eyes, however, were drawn to something else. Aleneve hadn't dropped a meal on a tray, as Lothiriel had first assumed, but a sponge, bowl, towel, and herbs. Birthing equipment...  
  
"Yes! Thank you!" cried Lothiriel, and dashed from the room. The birth would be at the healer's. Lothiriel practically ran through the streets of Edoras towards the healer's. She finally arrived at the thatched, whitewashed building. Inside there was little sound, but for a piercing, high squeal. Lothiriel smiled in triumph as she entered the building. There, in a seat together, Tangwystl looking tired, and Eomer the same, the King of Rohan and his lover held a baby between them.  
  
Tangwystl stood up, and wrapped it in cloth, before sitting down again. Tangwystl bit her lip. She loved this child she'd just brought into the world, but what when Eomer discovered? What would happen when he knew the child must be cast out, almost, just so he could go on. Would he? Could he?  
  
"Yes! Thank you!" came a voice from the door, as it was swept open to reveal Lothiriel smiling triumphantly.  
  
*  
  
A/N I tried to try. 


	4. A Mouthful

A/N It's been ages since I last wrote a chapter for this. The last one was something I'd written just after I stopped, and had persuaded my wonderful wonderful beta to send me back. I abandoned everyone for so long, and I'm very sorry. I hope this chapter will make up for it! Just one more thing, I've decided to abandon the first person thing at the beginning, after everyone complained a lot.  
  
~~~~ A MOUTHFUL ~~~~  
  
Tangwystl hugged her child to her chest protectively. Lothiriel very clearly knew Rohirric Law, and that should this child be male, the marriage (And, like enough, the entire Kingdom of Rohan) be in tatters. And Tangwystl knew very well whether this child was male.  
  
"My Lord Eomer! You have been blessed with a child! I congratulate you!" Lothiriel was positively beaming. Tangwystl looked at her, unsure whether to be angry.  
  
"Yes, My Lady," he said, grinding his teeth. Lothiriel looked like she wanted to laugh, Tangwystl looked like she wanted to cry, and Eomer knew exactly what he wanted. A bottomless chasm to swallow him up.  
  
"And what shall you name the child, My Lord?" asked Lothiriel mockingly, noting with twisted satisfaction Tangwystl's slight flinch.  
  
Tangwystl was by now getting tired of being excluded from the conversation. She sneaked a sidelong glance at Eomer, and he caught on immediately.  
  
"The good lady Tangwystl and I have not decided on the child's name as of yet," he informed her stonily.  
  
"And what a shame. I have a passion for names. I'd love to help name it," she said innocently enough.  
  
Eomer kept his mouth shut, suspicious of his wife's intentions, but Tangwystl, who was perhaps not the sharpest sword in the armoury, was instantly excited at the prospect of discussing her child, and immediately began to gush.  
  
"Well, we were thinking of a historical figure, perhaps an ancient ruler? Do you know much of them. He'd have to be someone-," Tangwystl was cut off by a muffled shout from Lothiriel.  
  
"I am sure HE will be adorable, whatever his name. Now, however, I must leave. I have bags to pack," said Lothiriel airily, leaving the room.  
  
Eomer leapt from his seat and ran outside after her. "Lothiriel! We must talk!" Eomer was terrified. This could ruin him. The only way around it was to send Tangwystl and their child away, and be denied any participation in the upbringing. He did not know if he could do that.  
  
"Yes, My Lord?" asked Lothiriel, whirling round. She had a great desire to drop all her manners and suddenly be as rude and harsh as she wished, for it would do her no harm now, but twenty years of good upbringing prevented that. She satisfied herself with a cold and moderately impertinent tone of voice.  
  
"The... the child... 'Tis... my good friend's... He... he bid me look after it before he died..." Eomer choked on his words. To say thus was to deny his love for his mistress and their son; It was betrayal of all they had done together, as if it had not happened.  
  
"Oh?" Lothiriel was surprised, to say the least. He would give up his own son, just to please her? Well then, she would see how much he would do for her.  
  
"You will have no problem, then, with the child attending a most wonderful school in Gondor?" she asked, sweetly.  
  
Eomer paled. "N-no..." Oh, the eloquence of kings(  
  
"And you think that Tangwystl being a Lady in Waiting to the Queen Arwen is an excellent idea, don't you?" she said. It was more a statement than a question.  
  
"It... I mean she would... Yes. It would be wonderful..." Eomer knew exactly what he would have to do. All he had to do was explain that to Tangwystl.  
  
~*~*~Two Weeks Later~*~*~  
  
The King's chambers in Meduseld are quite grand, Tangwystl mused, as she made her way towards the red-draped bed. Today, however, Eomer was already there. And sitting up on the pillows, he looked decidedly pale. She touched his cheek with the back of her hand.  
  
"You are cold tonight?" she asked, looking at him concernedly. "I will have Aleneve re-light the fire..." she broke off, reaching for a bell.  
  
Eomer caught her wrist. "No, my love. I am not cold," he said, covering her small, delicate hand in his larger rough one.  
  
"Why then, are you paled? Have you taken fever?" she asked, meeting his chocolate coloured eyes with her green ones.  
  
'She isn't making this any easier...' thought Eomer in despair. "No, I have not taken fever. I... we need to talk..." he told her gently.  
  
Tangwystl's breath caught. She knew this would happen, knew that that foreign witch - Who couldn't even *ride* - would steal her wonderful soldier.  
  
"The child. You would have us killed!" said Tangwystl, her eyes wide with panic.  
  
Eomer took her in his arms quickly. "No, my love, not that. Never that..." they sat in silence for a few minutes, rocking together gently.  
  
"Then what?" Tangwystl asked in a hoarse whisper.  
  
"The Lady Lothiriel... She is not cruel, my love, do not think that. She is a stranger in a foreign land, trapped in a loveless marriage, with no future to look forward to, and no one to turn to. Okay, She is strong, though... She knows what she wants. And she wants you gone," said Eomer, holding his lover even closer.  
  
"No! You said we would live, you promised us that!" she sobbed.  
  
"You will live, my love, you will live! But you cannot stay here. She has arranged for our son to be educated in Gondor, and she has found you lodging and a source of income till the end of your days," he said soothingly.  
  
Tangwystl would not be calmed, though. She stood up in fury. "And you would do this!? You have bent to the will of that woman!? A vile usurper of your throne, no less! You will send me away, but I'll be damned if ever I come back!" she cried, and ran from the chamber.  
  
~*~*~  
  
It was in the grey dawn of the next morning that Tangwystl left Edoras. Eomer had not been informed of when she was leaving, and so he was not there. As the first spatters of rain fell on the cobbled yard, the covered carriage wobbled away.  
  
Stony faced, Tangwystl did not turn around, but subconsciously hugged Airan, their child, closer. She could not have Eomer, so she would cherish this child as she did his father. Forever.  
  
~*~*~  
  
That same grey dawn, Lothiriel watched Tangwystl leave. Just because she had gone, life would be no happier.  
  
Over the next few months, she was proved right. There had been no news from her father in three weeks. He was old, she reasoned, and had little time to waste on his grown up daughter. His ONLY grown up daughter. But what could you expect from a man who sent his daughter away to a horrid country to while away her days alone?  
  
In the next room, Eomer was in a similar state. Tangwystl had not written him, and by the looks of it, was not going to. Not that he blamed her. Lothiriel had been rather mopey the last few days, which had rather annoyed Eomer, since he had sent away his lover and child just to please her. He began to stew a little on this, becoming more and more annoyed at her ingratitude, until finally he jumped from his seat, and went to pound upon her bedroom door.  
  
Hearing the dreadful racket, Lothiriel tore herself up from her position at the table, where she had been writing a complaint-filled letter to her father. She stormed over to the door, intent upon giving whoever had decided to intrude upon her a right mouthful. She unbolted the door, and swung it open, to reveal Eomer.  
  
"Are you aware of- Oh... My Lord," she dropped a small curtsy, and moved to let him in.  
  
Slightly softened by her sudden good manners, Eomer motioned she should sit. "I... That is to say, all of us... Mostly, me, really, but a lot of people recently... have, er, noticed you seem, er, preoccupied lately..." he faltered under her unrelenting gaze.  
  
"Yes..." she encouraged him. Normally, she would have been cold and unresponsive, but lately she had been so starved of conversation that she needed to talk with him.  
  
"I wondered if you were... happy, here. In Meduseld, I mean..." he said.  
  
Lothiriel looked at him. She'd never previously taken the time. His sandy hair and brown eyes complimented each other perfectly, and his slightly scarred face was extremely appealing.  
  
"Yes, well, I mean... I do like it. But perhaps I could... take a holiday, some place? Just to visit my father?" she asked, tentatively.  
  
"Yes, if you would enjoy that...?" he asked, silently appraising her. Black hair wasn't that bad, really. And her blue eyes looked so pretty in the fire light... Before either of them knew what was happening, he leaned forward, and captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. To his surprise, she responded passionately.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, they broke away, more for air than anything else. Neither spoke for a while, slightly shocked at what had just happened. He smiled, and stroked her hair gently.  
  
"Would you like to... again?" he asked. She smiled, warmly, and again their lips locked. This time, however, they pulled away a little earlier. Eomer, slightly shocked at just how much he had enjoyed the kiss, mumbled an excuse before leaving quickly.  
  
Later, mulling over what had just happened, Lothiriel realised with a smile that she had given him a mouthful after all.  
  
~~~~~  
  
A/N Whee! I'm sure you're thinking 'Aww, it's going to be all soppy and happy and fluffy bunnies' and stuff. Well it's not. It's also not going to be a 'We're so physically attracted to each other but our mutual dislike is a barrier we must break down'. It's just going to carry on. That's all I'm telling you. 


	5. I'll Be Missing You

A/N Well, at least I got this one out slightly quicker than the last chapter... heh... Right. I've upped the rating for the chapter, because of something that happens. I can't tell you what, it'll ruin the plot. Anyway, thankies to rabid cow, my beta, and all you people who reviewed! I was really surprised, just then, when I realised I all ready had 27!!  
  
~~~~ I'LL BE MISSING YOU ~~~~  
  
Returning from Lothiriel's chamber, Eomer's breeches felt incredibly tight. And there was nothing he could do about it... He scowled. Making his way towards his bed, however, he espied a bottle at his desk. Forgoing the luxury of a goblet, he downed most of the bottle quickly. It felt better; much better. As the night drew on, the bottles grew in number, and less in volume, until around Eomer collapsed into bed in the early hours of the morning.  
  
Later that morning Eomer woke to sunlight filtering through his unshuttered windows. He wondered vaguely why the servants had opened them all ready, but looking at the sun, he saw it was well past noon. Swearing colourfully, he leapt from the bed. He was more than fashionably late for the council! It was just a small meeting he had called so he could speak and listen to his scouts and captain's reports, but it wouldn't really do for the king to be late for his own meeting.  
  
Throwing on some sort of tunic and pants combination, he sprinted from his bedroom with just one boot on, displaying his wide vocabulary of colourful language.  
  
Hopping into the keep, he made quickly for an inner chamber which doubled as a conference room and an armoury. It probably wasn't a good idea if arguments broke out, he mused as he crashed in ungracefully.  
  
"Good morrow," he mumbled from the floor. The assembled nobles and wise men stared at him incredulously.  
  
"My Lord... Are you well?" asked one nervous captain.  
  
Picking himself up, Eomer did his best to look dignified, motioning for everyone to sit as he did. Unfortunately, his attempt at dignity was marred when he nearly toppled from his chair at the sight of a sniggering Lothiriel skulking around behind a sword rack.  
  
"You are all aware of why I called you here, are you not?" he said, trying desperately not to make a fool of himself. Many of the nobles here and seen great wisdom in Wormtongue's words, and still believed Eomer unfit to be King. It was imperative that he didn't give them any opportunity to mock him.  
  
"Yea," there was a general murmur of acknowledgement.  
  
"There is nothing to report. A vandal or two has been stealing some of my chickens, though(" a portly, richly dressed old man complained.  
  
"My men discovered a small band of Orcs, but we got rid of the devils quickly. That foul race shall not trouble our borders for some time," said one young man, looking proud of himself.  
  
"Eowine, you have done well. I'm sure there were no casualties?" asked Eomer. Eowine was rather touchy on the subject of Orcs, and scowled, for whilst he strongly supported Eomer, his young wife had been killed in one such raid, and he believed instant, brutal action should be taken against such creatures.  
  
"None, my Lord. I would that others took such care when protecting their land..." he gave a pointed look to the chicken-protector, whose land his family had been on.  
  
"We do as we can," said a veteran soldier, giving Eowine a look which clearly said 'Drop it.'.  
  
"Yes, your betters know how to manage their land," laughed a middle aged Lord, a rather pompous landowner from the south.  
  
"You have clearly shown that you cannot! I think proper defences should be built!" he looked around wildly for some support, looking increasingly worried that no one else thought so. Seeing this, Eomer felt a stirring of pity for the boy. Eomer himself often felt this way, trapped in a room with your own ideas and your own thoughts but surrounded by people unwilling to hear them.  
  
"I think Eowine is right. But it would be far too costly. We'll discuss this at a later date, I think. WE can think between now and then," stated Eomer diplomatically.  
  
There was a murmur of assent, and people began to filter out. Eomer, however, stayed in his seat. He had no patience, now, for jousting or feasting, or even drinking, usually one of his favourite hobbies.  
  
"My Lord?" a nervous voice at Eomer's elbow broke into his train of thoughts.  
  
"Yes?" Eomer turned, to find that the voice was in fact Eowine, who was looking just as uncomfortable as he sounded.  
  
"Well, I... I wanted to say thank you. For sticking up for me just now. Not a lot of people agree with me, I know. But when Hildelorne died... I thought: 'No one should have to go through this, it has to stop!' I just think - I just think we should do something, that's all. And the let- someone-else-do-it attitude in the council is just not enough... Thank you, any way," Eowine faltered, trailing off.  
  
"You're quite welcome. I do agree with you, really. But everyone expected that Theodred would be king. I have a lot to live up to. Theodred was great man," said Eomer.  
  
Eowine smiled, bowed politely, and left them chamber swiftly.  
  
"He was, wasn't he?" said Lothiriel, coming out from behind the rack.  
  
Eomer narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't be here," he said, bad temperedly.  
  
"You shouldn't be king!" she told him, her voice laced with venom, and exited the chamber.  
  
Sighing, Eomer rubbed his temples. Eru, that last statement had hurt. She had no right to say things. Tangwystl would never... But there was no use thinking about Tangwystl. She was gone. Forever.  
  
~*~*~  
  
In a small village, on the isolated outskirts of Gondor, Tangwystl wasn't thinking along the same lines. Airan was growing at a tremendous rate, and seemed to want to prove so by being awake every hour. Tangwystl needed a break, and he needed a father terribly. She needed his father too. For a while, she mulled over what had happened between them.  
  
It wasn't like he had had a choice... If she had but drunk the special contraceptive drink, none of this would've happened.  
  
So it was her fault, really. She had brought this upon herself. She, and her son! Her breathing became heavy. She had done this, and now her world was crashing down around her. She fell to her knees. It was too much, it was all too much. It was because of her. Eomer didn't want her. She should've been better. She should've drunk the potion, she shouldn't have left, she shouldn't have insulted the queen!  
  
So many things she shouldn't have done, shouldn't have said... shouldn't have lived. Yes, that would work. No one needed her any more. She just clung onto them. The whole court had thought she was dim. They'd all laughed behind her back, when she'd gone. Calling her a whore. And she was. How could she have never seen before?  
  
Casting around for something, for anything... She saw the silver dagger on the table... shining... It hurt... But she'd show them. She'd hurt herself more than they could hurt her. Anything they could do to her, she could do to herself tenfold. And it felt so good, to know she could be better than them...  
  
Tears stained her face, and crimson stained her wrists. Airan was crying, and she couldn't hear him anymore. She wouldn't hear anyone any more. She couldn't even hear the scream when a maid noticed the red rushes. She didn't hear them take Airan away. She didn't hear the messenger sprinting away with a letter to the king.  
  
She didn't hear, a week later, Eomer quietly entering the burial ritual, swathed in a cloak and talking little. She didn't hear him cry. She didn't even hear it when the coffin lid closed.  
  
~*~*~  
  
After Tangwystl's death, Eomer was incredibly dejected. Tangwystl had left a void. He'd thought it was bed when she was living away, but now, he could feel himself bleeding.  
  
Lothiriel wasn't quite as happy as she had expected to be. With Tangwystl dead, there wasn't anyone to antagonise. Feeling annoyed at the loss of her best victim, this time for good, she decided to go for a walk.  
  
Walking alone in Edoras was actually quite safe, the Horse-Lords being an honourable lot, really. She rather missed the strict social frame and blatant sexism of Dol Amroth.  
  
She made for the caves below the city, vaguely hoping for a guard or two to sulkily ask her to turn back, then pointedly ignore her when she refused to. Unsurprisingly, there were none. She began to explore these the inner catacombs, rather fancying the thought of getting lost. These thoughts were dashed, however, when the she encountered Eowine, the boy from the council.  
  
"My Lady! One could get lost in here!" he warned her, running to catch up.  
  
"Why, then, do you wander here alone?" she asked him, privately thinking he should practice what he preached.  
  
"I have known these caves since my brother and I explored them as children. I could find my way out with my eyes closed!" he boasted laughingly.  
  
Lothiriel arched an eyebrow. "Really? Off you go, then!" she smiled, and watched him expectantly.  
  
"My Lady! It was said in jest alone. I didn't mean it," he said, slightly alarmed.  
  
"Then do not make hollow promises," she told him, inspecting a stalactite*.  
  
"I would not presume to again, My Lady. You have taught me a valuable lesson," he bowed.  
  
"Then I have not wasted my breath," Lothiriel fought back laughter. This young man was irrepressible, and his jovial nature was unfortunately rubbing off on Lothiriel.  
  
"Many things are wasted on me, My Lady, but this time, I think not!" he smiled happily.  
  
"How old are you? Act your age, not your horseshoe size!" she laughed.  
  
"Ah, but my mighty stallion needs magnificent twenty nail shoes! And last time I checked, my birthday is not 'til Yule!" he grinned.  
  
"Then you should consider maturing!" she smiled at him.  
  
"Are you going back to Meduseld, My Lady?" he asked, with utter politeness.  
  
"Why yes, I am," she said, playing along.  
  
"Then 'tis my duty to accompany you!" he held out his arm. She giggled and grasped it firmly.  
  
"Oh, sir, it would be a pleasure!" she beamed.  
  
"The pleasure, My Lady, is all mine," he bowed low, and kissed her hand. She was so beautiful. Like a fey, from some unearthly paradise. His eyes misted over just looking at her.  
  
"My name, sir, is Lothiriel," she said, looking at him. Eomer was handsome, yes. More so than the tall, slightly gawky Eowine, but didn't have nearly as much life. While Eomer was all dignity and kingship, Eowine was passion and life and... about to kiss her! Lothiriel leant into the kiss. It was wrong, so very wrong, she was married! So why was she liking this so much, she wondered.  
  
The same sort of thoughts were running through Eowine's head. He shouldn't be doing this. His captain, his king! And if Lothiriel didn't taste so good he would've pulled away.  
  
Unfortunately, she did taste good.  
  
~~~~  
  
A/N Gosh, this is getting harder every day! I need my plot to return. And I need that pesky muse too. I'll have to use Draco if he doesn't come back. Yes, I know, Draco's my Pottermuse. But I might need hundreds of muses and reviews before I get my head together. I think I'll got make a plot outline, because I like this story. I don't want to forget it... Again.  
  
*Stalactites are the ceilingy ones. Yup. 


	6. Driftwood

A/N Sorry this took so long, there were a few changes that had to take place. I hope you liked the last chapter though, I was really nervous about it. Come to think of it, I'm really nervous about this one too... Erm, also, the 'Caves under Edoras thing' yeah, I know there are none, but just imagine that Edoras sits atop a great maze of catacombs like at Helm's Deep. Oh, just to let you know, I'm all ready planning a sequel! My brilliant beta, rabid cow, has agreed to beta that as well! Isn't that cool? Any way, enjoy!  
  
DRIFTWOOD   
  
Breathlessly, Lothiriel pulled away from Eowine. She looked away from his hopeful eyes. How could she be doing this to Eomer? He did not love the man, never would she love him; but this felt so wrong. She was no more than Tangwystl, a whore. But at least Tangwystl had preyed upon money, power, and good looks. Lothiriel was selling herself cheaply, to a horse-guard. No, he was not even that. He was practically a stable-boy! Eowyn's ancient taunt once again haunted her – Black as is sin... It echoed around her head.  
  
"Lothiriel?" Eowine stirred her from her musings with his perpetually nervous voice. It was rather high pitched and tremulous, and sounded rather squeaky and nasal.  
  
"Mhmmm?" she turned back to him. He was so wonderful, and there was love and passion behind those eyes, but... NO! She would not succumb to the temptations of the flesh, whether she wanted to or not. That's all he was, a good lay. Is what she would have though, but Eowine was gawky, squeaky, and had, even by Rohirric standards, an extremely strange name.  
  
"You don't wish for... We should leave it?" he asked, in his shaking tremor. All the while she had been looking away from him, he had stared at her, and seen the same love and passion and even... want? All behind those eyes, eyes so dark that midnight could drown within their abyss.  
  
"We should..." Lothiriel trailed off. They should, yes, but what one should do and what one does are two entirely different things. "We should, yes. But whether we will or not has not yet been decided." She smiled coquettishly.  
  
"Perchance, My Lady, it has been decided," he breathed, and she giggled as he swept her up in his arms, as they ventured deep down into the cavernous hall that was beneath the hill of Edoras.  
  
Eowine awoke early the next morning. Lothiriel lay sleeping beside him, and he didn't have the heart to wake, her, she looked so peaceful as she slept. He briefly contemplated waiting until she woke up before leaving, but Eomer had scheduled another council for today, and Eowine took war a lot more seriously than women, even this one, on whom he had gambled so much for, just to spend one night with.  
  
Still tired, he dressed quickly, in the clothes he had worn before. Was it right to leave her so, cold and alone in the unrelenting darkness of the caverns? Of course, it mattered little, country and king before whores and wine, but all the same... Touching Lothiriel's dark hair tentatively one last time before he left, he sped out of the cavern.  
  
A while later, Lothiriel herself awoke. In the deep caverns, day melded into night for her, as she, unlike Eowine, had a terrible perception of the passage of time. Blinking, she heaved herself upright. Around her were her clothes, and she lay wrapped in her cloak.  
  
"Eowine?" she called, wrapping the cloak ever closer, trying to protect herself from the chill. Even for deep, dripping caverns, these were cold. Of course, she'd never slept naked in a deep, dripping cavern before.  
  
"Eowine, I'm not in the mood. Come here!" she called, getting irritated. There was no answer but the echo of her voice reverberating around the cavern. Bad-temperedly, she collected her clothes together, and threw them on. Men were all the same, she decided. Pushing away these thoughts, she attempted to fortify her failing heterosexuality, and made for the Hall. She wondered vaguely whether that was a good idea, to gallivanting into the hall badly dressed, with messy hair, at any time of the day or night. It probably wasn't, but right then, she didn't particularly care.  
  
Eomer awoke to the unmistakeable sounds of a full tavern. Startled, he shot up in bed. What the hell was he doing in a tavern? He had been drunk again last night, but he certainly didn't recall a tavern. He could definitely hear one though. He looked around wildly, looking with distaste at the pile of putridly coloured vomit staining his rushes. His room, normally tidy, was covered in broken glass, feathers (?), his clothes, and reeked of gin and vomit. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cast around for a drink of water, and saw none. Shrugging, he stood, to go and see just why he could hear a tavern outside his house.  
  
Walking towards the noise, he became increasingly aware of a splitting headache. With each step, another shot of white-hot pain lanced through his head. He felt rather dizzy, too. Opening the door of the keep, he nearly collapsed. Those unmistakeable sounds he had heard before were definitely coming from here. Maids ran around, laughing or screaming, depending on the looks of those who were chasing them. The men who weren't following the giggling cleaners were sitting drinking ale at the tables. Eomer choked.  
  
"STOP!" he screamed. A blanket of silence slowly descended upon the room. A tipsy maid or two let out a nervous giggle. Eomer sent them looks of pure poison. The tension in the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Eomer slowly looked at each of his nobles in turn, the headache gone, replaced with pure, unbridled anger.  
  
"What has been going on here, could someone please tell me?" his voice was deceptively calm, but so cold it would have melted in the arctic. Many of the older nobles knew to keep quiet, but some of the younger, drunker members of the aristocracy did not know when to hold their tongues.  
  
"We found the beer, sir!" one yelled, displaying his tankard, and all of his friends roared with laughter at the man, whose wit wouldn't have cut butter. However, when drunk, along with common sense, morality and shame, a normal sense of humour is thrown out of the window.  
  
"You did, did you? And who, on this day of council, permitted you to partake of our usually well guarded ale?" he asked, his voice still calm and sibilant. Now, however, even the drunken youth had caught on, and the whole hall remained stubbornly silent.  
  
"Well. You do not wish to tell me. Are you all such cowards that the one man who voiced the order will not be found?" he asked. Those who hadn't said a word looked around, grim jawed. Some had sincerely thought that drinking the ale would be all right, and that it was relatively normal to turn the keep into a brothel. Most of the nobles knew who it was, but kept a respectful silence. Where was the honour in weaselling favour through treachery?  
  
"You will not say. That is fine. But since you have drunk most of the ale saved for the upcoming feast, I am afraid that there shall be no feast. There is nothing I can do. Sorry, gentlemen," Eomer calmy turned on his heel, and left the keep. Kingly duties were boring.  
  
As he bad temperedly rode away from Edoras, not caring where he went, it never crossed his mind that he'd missed the council.  
  
Lothiriel, approaching the keep, could practically feel the hostility emanating from the building. Concerned, she wondered what could be wrong, as it was nearly a feast day. She shrugged, and pushed the great doors open. Instead of the normal buzz of chatter, there was a feeling of unspoken bitterness hanging in the air. Her footfalls echoing eerily in the silence as she crossed the hall, she became extremely aware that all eyes were focussed on her, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.  
  
Eowine was not among those in the hall, and Lothiriel was extremely grateful. She never wanted to see him again, let alone talk to him. He had played her, and treated her like a common whore. Treated her like... like Tangwystl! Angered by her own thoughts, Lothiriel shot a death glare to the pale-faced youth guarding the antechamber leading off from the hall, and slammed her door behind her. She, heard, as soon as the door closed, normal chatter building up again.  
  
"My Lady, are you well?" asked a frightened Aleneve, who had been tidying Lothiriel's chambers. The reluctant maid had been avoiding her foul- tempered mistress for a long while, especially since the birth of Airan.  
  
"I'm fine, Aleneve. Leave now, I need to do something," said Lothiriel. She didn't think she could take any of Aleneve's incessant moaning right now. She'd forgotten about the pale-faced woman recently, but seeing her again brought back all sorts of unpleasant memories.  
  
"But My Lady..." Aleneve simpered.  
  
"Shut up!" Lothiriel was rather tired, and her witty comebacks were at an all time low right now. Aleneve probably wouldn't notice, though, as she tended to be rather... blonde, for lack of a better word. Lothiriel sighed, as she watched Aleneve leave the chamber quickly.  
  
Thoughts were running through her mind at a tremendous pace. Thoughts about Eowine, about Eomer, about her Father, about everything. Things she had said, replaying in her mind. The look on Eomer's face when he'd heard about Tangwystl, the letters (Or lack of them) from her Father, waking alone in a cold cave...  
  
Lothiriel suddenly felt extremely sick. She was feeling sorry for herself, wallowing in her own self-pity, just as Aleneve did. She was weak, she was stupid and she was feeling pity for it. She didn't need pity! She didn't need sympathy, she needed nothing! Especially not Eomer. Or Eowine. She knew what she wanted, and she would have it.  
  
Even if no one wanted her, she'd show them. It didn't matter if she floated from place to place, unwanted, as driftwood. She could be strong.  
  
As she was wallowing in her self-pity, the thought that there were people much better off than her comforted her a little. Also, she found she took a sort of twisted comfort in the thought that she could have people beheaded, although she wasn't a big fan of the whole decapitation thing. She preferred strangulation.  
  
A/N Do you know how long that took! I'm nearly dying... I hope you like it... You'd better... 


End file.
